


Impostor Syndrome

by Killjoy_Linnea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Impostor Syndrome, Les Amis de l'ABC Shenanigans, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 04:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killjoy_Linnea/pseuds/Killjoy_Linnea
Summary: Grantaire suffers from a bad case of impostor syndrome. Les Amis try to help out, with a bit of assistance from Montparnasse. This may or may not involve a powerpoint presentation named "Your Impostor Syndrome Is Lying To You", chocolate cake and a first kiss.





	Impostor Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> My first ExR fic so go lightly on me, please. I tried and for that no one can judge me.

Grantaire considers taking the whiskey bottle and fleeing into his room when he hears Montparnasse unlock their front door. Sharing a flat with Montparnasse is fairly uncomplicated, but Grantaire knows Montparnasse is going to see right through him if he stays put. His steps are closing in from the hallway. Grantaire realizes he won’t make it to his room in time for Montparnasse not to notice him. Montparnasse’s eyebrows nearly hits his hairline when he sees his flatmate by the dinner table. 

“Hello. Why aren’t you at the meeting? It’s started twenty minutes ago,” he says, shrugging off his coat and then hesitating. “I can give you a ride if you…”

"They’re going to find out,” Grantaire interrupts, without any polite greeting. 

“Find out what, exactly?” Montparnasse asks, still standing in the kitchen doorway. Grantaire doesn’t answer, rather takes another sip from the bottle. Montparnasse crosses the room, worry spreading over his face. He hangs his coat over the back of a chair. 

“Did something happen? Did you do something?” Montparnasse rests his hands against the table, leaning forward toward Grantaire. “I can help you if… you know. Anything needs handling.” Grantaire looked up at him and raised his eyebrows.

“Are you asking me if I killed someone? I definitely did not kill anyone.”

“No, not killed, perhaps,” Montparnasse says, but the relief on his face is evident. Grantaire takes another sip. This is simply too much. “But beat someone, I don’t know.”

Grantaire laughs humorlessly. “I have not and will not punch anyone, Parnasse. You know better than to worry about me.”

Montparnasse huffs indignantly. “You look like you wanna punch someone, and you know I worry.”

Grantaire hands him the bottle and Montparnasse nods thanks. “They’re all going to find out I’m a fraud,” Grantaire says with a sigh. “I swear. I can see it a bit more in them every meeting. The way they look at me… Especially Enjolras. He knows, he just has the courtesy of not telling the others but rather letting them find out for themselves.”

Montparnasse furrows his eyebrows at Grantaire’s statement. “A fraud of… what exactly? I don’t follow…”

“That I’m a nice guy! That I’m fun! That I’m… their friend. I have managed, don’t ask me how, to trick them into thinking I’m fun to have around, that I contribute, but I don’t. I know I don’t and Enjolras knows I don’t, but the rest of them are just starting to realize it. I should just withdraw myself before it gets embarrassing. Fuck…” Grantaire buries his face in his hands, holding back the tears. There’s no point in feeling sorry for himself. He can’t believe he made it this far to be honest. This brave band of weirdos actually grew on him and he hates that he’s going to have to leave them behind. That this habit of going to meetings, protests, fighting with Enjolras, having beers with Joly and Bossuett will be reduced to saying hi in class and perhaps a coffee with Combeferre once a semester. It’d be so awkward. Montparnasse groans and for a second Grantaire thinks he’s been hurt. He looks through his fingers, but Montparnasse has sat down opposite him, one hand tightly gripping the whiskey bottle and other pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes are clenched shut, and Grantaire’s heart drops. He reaches out over the table to touch Montparnasse’s arm. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

“M’fine, just trying very hard not to smash this bottle over your head,” Montparnasse says. Grantaire honestly can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, so he takes the bottle from Montparnasse’s hand and puts it to his own lips instead. The pain in his throat as the liquid rushes down is grounding. Montparnasse finally leans back in his chair and looks at Grantaire. 

“You think I’m stupid,” Grantaire says. 

“Yes.” This is one of the main treasures of being friends with Montparnasse. He always tells it like it is, and he’d rather die than sugarcoat. 

“Sorry for being sad about being loser.”

“You are not a loser. And that’s not what you’re sad about. Hell, you aren’t even sad, R, can’t you see that?”

Grantaire thinks for a minute. “I’ve just checked and I feel pretty fucking sad.”

“You are scared,” Montparnasse deadpans, leaning his elbows on the table. He looks slightly pissed off. 

“Scared?” Grantaire laughs at the mere thought. 

“You are afraid you are going to lose them. People have used you in the past, R. You gave them all you had and when you had nothing else to give, they left you behind, I know, but this is different.” Grantaire spins the bottle, keeping his eyes focused on the table, which is looking rather fuzzy. He feels Montparnasse’s hand on his arm. “I know you are scared now because you can’t give more than this. They’ve seen most of you, and now you think they are ready to pack their bags, thinking “Weren’t there more to him than this?”. I’m telling you, they’re not that kind of people.”

Grantaire wipes his eyes with the cuff of his plaid shirt. “How would you know?”

“I know,” Montparnasse says. “I do, okay? They may be… weird. That Courf-guy seems to be in love with everything. Combeferre is a sensible guy. Bahorel and you take that sculpture class, right? Do they seem like they would ditch you? Would Jehan drop someone like that? No. They like you. And Enjolras seems pretty harsh, but that’s not because he thinks you’re a fraud, R. That’s… something else entirely.”

Grantaire’s chest warms up a bit at Montparnasse’s mock-pronunciation of Enjolras. Montparnasse goes on, before Grantaire gets the chance to butt in. 

“You are a great guy. People may have made you feel otherwise, but you are. Why’d you think I’ve stayed with you this long? You are funny, smart and makes the worst fucking puns I’ve ever heard. You’re honest and warm...”

“That last part is mostly the alcohol,” Grantaire interrupts. Despite making fun of Montparnasse’s words, his chest feels lighter. Like he can breathe again. 

“I know you joke to cope, but it’s all true, R, and you know it,” Montparnasse says. 

“I know,” Grantaire says faintly. “I just… I really like them.”

“They like you too,” Montparnasse assures him. Which… Grantaire furrows his eyebrows. 

“How… How do you know that stuff about my friends though? You’ve never met them. You’ve never been to a meeting.” Montparnasse clears his throat and gets up from his chair. 

“You’re a delight. Those are my last words in this conversation.”

“No! Montparnasse, who told you? I swear to God I haven’t told you those things. Parnasse!”

Montparnasse half walks, half runs, in the direction of his room. 

“Parnasse! Who is your source?!”

The door to his room slams. Grantaire’s mind has something new to think about. 

 

-

 

“We can’t wait any longer,” Combeferre says gently. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Knowing Grantaire he might have taken a nap that turned out to be a full night’s sleep,” Bahorel added. All eyes in the back room of Café Musain are on Enjolras, who seems unfocused for once. The meeting should have started almost twenty minutes ago, but Grantaire didn’t show up, and Enjolras didn’t want to start without him. 

“I think I can find out where he is,” Jehan offers, sending a smile in Enjolras’ direction. “Start the meeting and I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

Enjolras nods slowly. “Okay. It’s not like him to be late, or missing out. Not without telling anyone.”

“I’m sure Jehan can figure it out. Now, what was that you said Professor Javert had said about gender fluidity?” Feuilly nods eagerly as Enjolras can’t hold back any longer and throws himself into describing the situation to his friends. Jehan gives Enjolras half of their attention, and it is truly an ugly try to explain gender fluidity on Javert’s part, and the other half focused on their phone. He sends a text to Montparnasse, who answers within minutes. 

 

_ Jehan; You know where Grantaire is? He didn’t show up at the meeting? _

 

_ Montparnasse; Almost home, i’ll see if i can find him _

 

_ Montparnasse; he’s probably napping _

 

_ Jehan: he wouldn’t miss this _

 

_ Montparnasse; ok _

 

It takes Montparnasse twenty minutes to get back to Jehan. 

 

_ Montparnasse; he’s at home, drinking and wrestling his impostor syndrome _

 

Jehan reads the message twice.

 

_ Jehan; he what _

 

_ Montparnasse; he thinks he’ll bore you and that you’ll throw him out. google  imposter syndrome _

 

“What is imposter syndrome?” Jehan asks out loud, effectively cutting all other conversations short. They look up from their phone and around the room. Everyone looks various degrees of lost with Enjolras topping the lost-scale and Joly looking the least thrown off. 

“Imposter syndrome? Anyone?” Jehan repeats.

“It’s a mental state or experience where people can’t internalize their achievements and feel like, despite their success, they are going to be exposed as frauds. They often feel guilty because they feel like they’ve tricked their surroundings,” Joly explains. 

“Does that work on friendships?” Jehan asks, looking down at their phone again. 

“I guess,” Joly answers thoughtfully. “I don’t know really, but I can’t see any reason for it being limited to work-related success.”

Jehan types. 

 

_ Jehan; can we fix it?  _

 

_ Montparnasse; idk i talked to him and i think it helped but… there’s no harm in trying? _

 

_ Jehan; hold on.  _

 

_ Montparnasse; ????? _

 

Jehan ignores Montparnasse’s text and looks up from their phone again and finds that all eyes in the room rests on them. 

“Grantaire didn’t show up today because he has imposter syndrome and I quote “he think he’ll bore you and you’ll throw him out”. We have to do something.” Everyone starts talking at the same time, either expressing confusion or horror and Jehan can’t find it within themselves to take charge of the situation. They lock eyes with Enjolras who nods shortly. 

“Okay!” he says loudly and the room quietens. “This is what we are going to do…”

 

-

 

Montparnasse re-emerges from his bedroom with his coat in his hand. Grantaire has put the whiskey bottle away and is doing some breathing exercises his therapist in high school taught him to do when the noise in his head becomes overwhelming. 

“Let’s go for a ride,” Montparnasse says and Grantaire opens one eye to peer at him. 

“I’m not really in the mood, Parnasse, but thank you.”

“I promise, I’ll make it worthwhile. Just trust me, okay?” Montparnasse replies with a grin. Last time those words and that grin in combination were offered to Grantaire the two of them had ended up drunk on the other side of town and had somewhere along the way purchased a pet snake. That snake was a highlight of Grantaire’s twenty-two years long life and he’d be damned before he refused Montparnasse when he was told to trust him. So, without further due, Grantaire leaves his spot on the kitchen floor to put on some clothes and follows Montparnasse to his motorcycle. 

 

The cold night air and the thrill of a fast motorcycle ride cheers up Grantaire a bit. It really does. It is immediately dampened when Montparnasse pulls up outside Café Musain and kills the engine. 

“Oh no,” Grantaire says, betrayal leaking into his tone. “No. No, you did not.”

“Yes, I did,” Montparnasse says and takes off his helmet. Grantaire holds onto his own in protest. 

“I’m not taking off this helmet and I’m not getting off this bike. Take me home.” 

Montparnasse raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I could just run in the opposite direction, you know,” Grantaire argues, looking down the street. “There’s got to be a bus stop around here somewhere.”

“If you think you can outrun me, you are mistaken,” Montparnasse says with a smug smile. “You wouldn’t make it a block.”

Grantaire has to restrain himself from sticking his tongue out like a literal child. “Don’t look so fucking smug about it.” Grantaire falters a bit. The heavy weight on his chest is back and he can feel the lump in his throat. He lets go of the helmet and looks straight at Montparnasse. 

“I just… I just can’t go in there and see them right now. I’ll feel like shit the entire time and I’d probably start crying if Apollo tears into me and… I just feel like shit. Can we please go home?”

Montparnasse sighs and gently takes the helmet off of Grantaire’s head. “I know you feel like shit. But I’ll go in with you, and it’ll be better. They like you, Grantaire.”

“You don’t know anything about them, you can’t say that.” Grantaire knows he sounds whiney but he honestly cannot manage to give a fuck. He wants to go home. Or a new pet snake. Montparnasse takes out his phone and starts typing. Grantaire watches with confusion and can’t resist to comment. 

“I’m sorry, do you have more important things to attend to than my mental breakdown?” he asks with a mocking tone.

“Yes, you’re lucky they all got cancelled or I wouldn’t be here,” Montparnasse bites back lightly, pocketing his phone. Grantaire gets off the bike, because now it just looks weird and Montparnasse is correct - there is really no way he’s going home unless Montparnasse decides to assist. The door to Musain opens and Jehan comes out, wrapped in a knitted scarf slash blanket, Grantaire can’t really tell which. They look concerned, but jump down the small stairwell with light feet and stops momentarily to plant a kiss on Montparnasse’s cheek before turning their full attention to Grantaire. Grantaire’s mouth is hanging open in shock and he is not prepared at all when Jehan suddenly throws themselves at him and engulfs him in a hug. 

“Please, come inside,” they whisper. “We know you’ve been feeling shitty and there’s no shame in that. Let us help.” Grantaire shuts his mouth, squeezes Jehan a little harder and wills his tears to not start falling. 

“Okay.” He isn’t sure his voice will be able to finish a full sentence. Jehan takes his hand, and smiles at Montparnasse when they pass by him. Grantaire is so going to interrogate Montparnasse about this later because what the fuck, but right now he can’t focus on much else than putting one foot in front of the other. He will not cry, he tells himself. He will not cry. 

 

-

 

Jehan gently guides him into the back room and Grantaire has enough time to collect himself to the point where he probably won’t burst into tears upon seeing his friends. Probably. He really regrets putting the whiskey bottle away so early. The back room is full as always, everyone is there. Eponine is on her feet and hanging around his neck before he is properly in the room. 

“I love you,” she says, sounding slightly aggressive. “You are such an idiot for thinking anything else.”

“Uh… Thanks…” Grantaire answers and as soon as Eponine has detached herself, he steps into the room, Montparnasse following close behind him. Everyone is looking at him and he is squirming under what feels like sudden scrutiny. He gives a meek smile and a wave. 

“Hi guys. Sorry for bailing on…”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, R. We are glad you could make it,” Enjolras says, looking stern.  “Please, take a seat. And uh… You too, I guess.” Enjolras points at Montparnasse, who nods curtly. Jehan, who still hasn’t let go of Grantaire’s hand, pulls him along to the table and places him between them and Montparnasse. Montparnasse squeezes Eponine’s shoulder as he passes her and Grantaire is so confused. Has Montparnasse secretly befriended his friends? With the apparent exception of Apollo, who looks at least a little bit thrown off? Grantaire notices that Courf is missing, but before he can comment on that, Enjolras clears his throat. 

“Okay, everyone. Today’s meeting has taken a turn and has been prolonged, but I think that we shall all find that the most important topic today is the one we are about to start on now. Marius, the lights please.” Marius leans backwards in his chairs and switch off the lights. Enjolras turns on the projector that the group had paid for and installed by themselves, with the café owner’s blessing. On the wall behind Enjolras the first slide of a powerpoint appears. On red and white background in black writing; ‘Your impostor syndrome is lying to you!’ Grantaire’s mouth falls open yet again. 

“This presentation is aimed mainly at Grantaire, but can also help enlighten the rest of us about what impostor syndrome is,” Enjolras starts. A click is heard and the slide changes. It shows a few bullet points outlining what impostor syndrome is. “Impostor syndrome is a syndrome where the person affected cannot internalize their achievements and is, as a result of this, afraid of being exposed as a fraud. Despite great achievements and getting good feedback, the person is unable to take credit and simply refers to their accomplishments as luck, timing or others making them out to be better than they really are…” The group listens intently as Enjolras barrels through the definition, the symptoms and possible treatments. Montparnasse leans close to Grantaire.

“I told you to trust me,” he whispers.

“I’m going to kill you for telling everyone,” Grantaire answers and is quickly hushed by Eponine. Enjolras clicks again and a new slide appears. It simply says ‘To Grantaire’. 

“So. Now when we know the background to this syndrome, we can move to the main point, which is that our friends Grantaire suffers from this. Therefore we have put together something for you, Grantaire, and please bare in mind that we made this on very short notice. We know that this might not fix everything, after all, the monarchy wasn’t overthrown in a day, but we want to help.” Grantaire reminds himself to breathe. Click. 

 

“Grantaire you are the best sculptor I know and I really enjoy accompanying you to our classes” - Bahorel.

 

Click.

 

“Grantaire, you are brave and smart and I couldn’t live without you.” - Eponine

 

Click. 

 

“You are a great artist and a great listener, even when I talk about moths. It is a pleasure to know you.” - Combeferre

 

Click.

 

And it continues. Grantaire has given up on trying not to cry and the slides just keep flashing and the room is dead quiet and it’s lucky, really, that he learned how to cry soundlessly a long time ago. Grantaire’s heart is so full as the messages from his friend keep being presented to him and at some point Jehan has taken his hand again. When Courfeyrac suddenly slams the door open and yells; “Did I miss it?!” everyone jumps in chock. Grantaire takes the opportunity to dry his eyes without anyone noticing. 

“There’s one slide left,” Enjolras says. “Please, close the door and sit down.”

Courfeyrac does just that and puts something on the table, but Grantaire can’t make out what it is in the dark. Or because of the teary eyes. Or both. 

“Sorry, do continue,” Courf says and a click is heard. The slide changes and Grantaire’s breath hitches in his throat. 

 

‘Grantaire. The group has really been merrier since you joined and though our opinions seem to always divide, your contributions on our meetings are invaluable. Knowingly or not, you push me to be a better person and to lead with my heart rather than my anger. For that inspiration, I can only say; Thank you.’ - Enjolras

 

Enjolras clears his throat and clicks to the next slide. “So, in conclusion, we appreciate you and we accept your flaws along with your strengths. We want to thank you for being a part of this group… Marius, lights.” 

Grantaire quickly dries his eyes on his shirt again before the lights are back on and everyone is looking at him. He opens his mouth, but closes is again. He looks to Enjolras with despair. 

“This might be overwhelming,” Enjolras immediately says. “But to take some pressure off of you, I can tell everyone that there are cake in the boxes Courf brought, please help yourselves.”

Grantaire finds his words as the shuffling to the cake boxes begin. 

“I just wanted… Thank you. All of you. I appreciate you too and I… uh… Thank you.”

There are applause and scattered ‘we love you’s and ‘what’s the flavour of the cake?’ in answer to his not so long exclaim. Grantaire never claimed to be eloquent and especially not when his chest is so warm it could be burning and there are happy tears in his eyes. Jehan kisses his cheek, before walking around him to sit down in Montparnasse’s lap and give him a peck on the lips. Grantaire tears his eyes from them to get a piece of cake. 

 

\- 

 

Enjolras approaches Grantaire when he has just finished his cake. The room is filled with pleasant conversation and laughter, and Enjolras walks up to him and asks; “Can I talk to you for a second?” 

“Sure.” Grantaire follows Enjolras outside. It’s darker now than when they arrived. The cold is biting his arms when he’s without a jacket, but he doesn’t mind, it helps clear his mind. Grantaire can’t help but notice the way the streetlight they’re standing under makes Enjolras’ hair blonde hair shimmer. Enjolras stares at the parked motorcycle for a second, then turns to Grantaire. 

“Is that yours?” 

“No, it’s Montparnasse’s,” Grantaire says, smiling fondly. “The guy that Jehan is probably feeding chocolate cake right now.”

“He’s… a biker?” Enjolras says, half to himself, half to Grantaire. 

“Yes. Not the obvious choice of partner on Jehan’s part. I was… surprised, and I plan on getting all the details about this later.”

“Keep me updated on that, please” Enjolras says, smiling lightly. Grantaire nods, rubbing his arms. Despite smiling, something is off about Enjolras. It’s almost like he’s nervous, which is a ridiculous thought. 

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Did you like the cake?” Enjolras asks at the same time. He doesn’t look bothered by the cold, which is rather impressive. Grantaire feels like he’s about to lose a finger or a toe any minute now. The point where the cold is clearing his head has passed and now it’s more like his brain is freezing.

“Yeah, the chocolate one was delicious…” 

“Good,” Enjolras says with a blush spreading over his cheeks. “I didn’t know what cake you like best, but I know you’ve bought chocolate and strawberry when we’ve had coffee so…” He derails and Grantaire doesn’t really know what to make with the fact that Enjolras remembers such things about him. Enjolras sighs and keeps his eyes on a pile of pebbles he’s shuffling around with the tip of his shoe. “I just wanted to make sure… We fight a lot, you know? And I just wanted to ask you if that impacts your… feelings? Am I making you feel like you’re not wanted here or do I…”

Grantaire ponders for a moment how such an eloquence that Enjolras normally possesses can go away so quickly, but then notes that Enjolras looks honestly upset and nervous about this. 

“Our fighting is the highlight of my week,” Grantaire hurries to say. “You don’t make me feel unwanted, Enjolras… I just…”

Enjolras interrupts him unceremoniously, stepping forward, almost eliminating the distance between them. “I know I can come on too strong sometimes, but I tried to take a step back with you, ‘cause I didn’t want to scare you away and now I’m… afraid that I’m sending the wrong signals.”

Grantaire momentarily wonders how Enjolras can be so direct about his feelings all the time, so unapologetic and honest. He is also very confused about where this is going.

“I was under the impression that everyone wrote a long text for the powerpoint, so that was slightly embarrassing when i literally tripled the word count, but it was all true. I really like you, Grantaire.”

Perhaps his brain actually is freezing. Maybe he and Montparnasse did buy a pet snake that then proceeded to bite him and now he’s hallucinating? 

“I understand if you don’t feel the same,” Enjolras says, unsure in the face of Grantaire’s silence. “I haven’t been very kind to you and…” Grantaire reaches out to grab Enjolras’ hands to stop him from backing away. His hands are freezing and Grantaire manages to almost enfold them in his own, bigger hands. He can’t really believe this is happening, but on the off-chance that this isn’t a snake-induced hallucination or a brain-freeze, he’s not going to let the opportunity slip him by. 

“No, I like you too,” he says. Enjolras’ eyes widens. “But are we talking like… friendship kind of like here, or are we..?” He clears his throat. He needs to know. Enjolras looks at him and Grantaire wishes he would just fucking say something and… Enjolras leans in and his lips brushes against Grantaire’s. He can feel Enjolras’ breath against his mouth and he catches his lips where they linger, in wait for some sort of approving response. Grantaire lets go of Enjolras’ hands to wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him into an embrace. The kiss is short and soft, but it’s got Grantaire ready to beg for more. 

“Is that okay?” Enjolras asks. 

“Yeah.” Grantaire is almost breathless. “I’ve wanted to do that a long time.” He hides his face in the crook of Enjolras neck and can feel the other smile. 

“Have you really?”

 

-

 

After five more minutes of making out in the freezing cold, Enjolras makes the rational decision to go back inside before their lips turn blue. Hypothermia will have to wait. The back room of the Musain quietens when they re-enter - Enjolras and Grantaire notice it, even though their friends try to seem indifferent. Courf, especially, is failing horribly as he stares at them with a hopeful smile and a glint in his eyes. Enjolras almost stops in the middle of a step, but Grantaire puts his hand at the small of his back to keep him moving and it helps. Musichetta and Eponine are talking about unashamedly about Montparnasse, who seems to have left, Grantaire realizes as he looks around. How typical of him to sneak out while Grantaire’s love life is on the verge of a crisis. Jehan is typing on their phone and only looks up as Grantaire sinks back down in the chair next to them. Enjolras sits on Grantaire’s other side, where Montparnasse has abandoned his seat. 

“Where’s Parnasse?” Grantaire asks Jehan. They shrug, still looking at their phone.

“He went home to get some sleep. He’s been handling business all day and most of last night.” Grantaire doesn’t answer. Enjolras puts his hand on Grantaire’s arm and leans over to whisper in his ear. 

“Do you want to let them know or do you want them to suffer for a while?” Grantaire evaluates the situation. Their friends is almost back to normal talk now, seeming somewhat disappointed. Combeferre keeps stealing anxious glances in their direction. Public displays of affection is not Grantaire’s style this early on, but he has a feeling it’s going to work out fine and he really, really would like an excuse to kiss Enjolras again. 

“Let’s put them out of their misery,” Grantaire says. Admittedly, it feels a bit awkward. Grantaire gently caresses Enjolras’ cheek to give them both something else to focus on as the room goes dead quiet. A faint blush is spreading over Enjolras’ cheeks and he is quick to press his lips against Grantaire’s. The room erupts in wild cheering. There’s a loud bang as Bahorel’s forehead makes contact with the table.

“Fucking finally!” he exclaims, throwing Bossuet and Chetta into a fit of laughter. Grantaire can’t hold it in either and grins widely at Enjolras, breaking the kiss. Courf, from across the table, blows glitter out of the palm of his hand. It rains down over the table, as well as gets stuck in Grantaire and Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras gives him an incredulous look. 

“Why… and how?” he says, shaking his head to get rid of as much glitter as he can. 

Courf shrugs. “I’ve been preparing for this moment for a year now, and it was for sale in the shop next to the bakery. I couldn’t resist.”  
  


 

-

 

It has gotten pretty late when Grantaire, after having walked Enjolras home and kissed him goodbye, stumbles into his and Montparnasse’s apartment. Grantaire is dying to tell Montparnasse about his night, and to thank him, but he also doesn’t want to wake him up. He closes the door as quietly as he can, but to no avail. Montparnasse’s opens the door to his room and leans against the doorway, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. 

“So..?” he says. His voice is raspy and his hair tousled, all clear signs that he has been rudely awoken.

“Did I wake you up?” Grantaire asks, knowing well that he is probably beaming in a very telling manner. “I tried to close the door as quietly as I could.”

“Yes, but you weren’t as stealthy climbing the stairwell,” Montparnasse answers surly, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “What happened with you and the revolutionary?”

Grantaire pretends he doesn’t hear how mockingly Montparnasse’s tone is at Enjolras’ nickname.

“We made out!” Grantaire throws his arms into the air in victory. “I think he actually likes me,” he says, head still racing with this fact. 

“Finally.” Montparnasse turns on his heels and is about to head back into his room when Grantaire calls out to stop him; “Parnasse!” Montparnasse halts and waits, his back to Grantaire. 

“Thanks for helping out,” Grantaire says, suddenly feeling a bit bashful. “Jehan told me you’ve had a lot on your plate the last twenty-four hours, but it means a lot that you still helped out.”

Montparnasse looks over his shoulder and grins. “No problem, R. Oh, and good luck getting that glitter out of your hair.” Grantaire’s hand moves to his hair self-consciously. 

“Tomorrow I’m gonna pester you until you tell me everything about you and Jehan!”

Montparnasse slams his door shut, leaving Grantaire smiling to himself in the darkness of their apartment. Tomorrow he’ll see Enjolras again, and this time he’ll get to kiss him hello rather than goodbye. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
